It's not a tumor

Two months ago, I woke up with right sided hip pain. I didn't think much of it; I lead a pretty active life and had tried indoor bouldering the day prior, so I attributed the pain to using muscle groups I traditionally don't often utilize.

However, if you know me, and the adventures I encounter on a frequent basis, this was just the start of fun in the sun.

Three weeks of pain went by, and one night, I could not put weight on my leg. 



Clue: This is an appropriate time to head down to ye old doctor.

Now, my primary care physician had just recently quit his practice, so I scheduled an appointment with a nurse practitioner whom I'd heard great things about.

The appointment itself was a little weird; I told him the pain was "exacerbated when sitting to standing" to which all conversation stopped and he said "What do you do for a living? No one uses that word (exacerbate) except medical professionals."

I don't casually clue people into what I do for a living because it always changes the context of the conversation. But, I told him, because lying is not a great idea.

His reply: "Hey, I'm a nurse too."

So, he pokes and prods, rules out that its not an organ issue (yeah, I know, it's my hip, not an organ), and tells me that I have a groin sprain.

A groin sprain?! 1) That's awkward 2) But how?

He prescribes muscle relaxants, tells me to take ibuprofen and not exercise for a good long while. I clue him in that I'm supposed to run a 10k in South Carolina in about a month. He then refers me to physical therapy.

Life goes on.

So did my pain.

It has been a pain difficult to describe, which is super frustrating as a nurse, and a patient. I had a patient once tell me they had chest pain. I poked, prodded, begged them to tell me how they'd describe the pain. All they could say was "It hurts. 10/10."

Similarly, this has been my hip pain. A deep, bone-like ache, made worse when going from sitting to standing, sometimes feeling as if my wee bones are willing to crumble apart under the weight of me.

A pain that robs you of your breath and shoots through your soul, but it does pass eventually. So, no big deal, ya? Ya.

Desperate for pain relief, I pursued physical therapy. Hours, days, weeks of torture. They tried dry needling. In my groin.

So casual

You know what that is?! A small needle is inserted into your muscle. I had about 10,000 needles placed into my groin and well, there was pain.

I laugh when I am in pain.

My physical therapist called it the "pain giggles"




Holy mother of all that is good and lovely, my leg cramped up and I was pretty sure I was about to meet my Maker.

It was about this time that two persistent co-workers all but forced me to see an orthopedist.

APPARENTLY pain for six weeks is abnormal or something. My new nickname at work became Grandma because of my pronounced limp and difficulty with standing up.

And to the orthopedist I went! The appointment went pretty well, minus at the end the doctor asking me if I had juicy details about a recent work event. I did, but, well, there's a time and a place for gossip and its probs not when you're concerned there's a fracture or tear in your hip.

An MRI is scheduled for the following week. This MRI comes with an arthrogram, so again, think of a needle, with contrast, going into your groin area. It's going to be great fun.

Living my best life

Now, my MRI had to be performed at the location I work at because otherwise, insurance wouldn't cover it. Which traditionally is okay, no big deal.

But you know, something about having your nether regions exposed to people you work with as a needle with contrast is injected into a painful area and peeps are staring at your groin for what feels like an inordinate amount of time turns a fun day into a not so fun day.

Plus, I was rocking an amazing one-size-fits-none hospital gown and somehow ran into every person I've ever met at the hospital that day.

The MRI itself was obnoxiously loud as MRI's are, and the music they offered to play for me over the headphones was at a delicately low volume. For 40 minutes or so I pondered my life.

After the test, I was told to enjoy my 10k that was scheduled for four days from then.

The pain, while significant, eventually cooled off and I spent the rest of the evening limping about.

The next day, I flew to Orlando, then drove to South Carolina for a girls trip, something I had very much looked forward to, and anticipated for months.

No word from my ortho regarding the results clearly meant that my scan was clean, and I was just your regular ol' hypochondriac.

...

I called the office Friday morning. Friday afternoon, I ventured out to lunch with five people in a very small and crammed car. Some, I knew, some I had just become acquainted with. We were in town to run a 10k the next day and life would be grand!

My phone rang while we were driving. I announced it was my orthopedist and well, here is a summary of our conversation:

"Abnormal MRI. Concerning for tumor.
Maybe cancer.
And possibly cancer.
And could be cancer.
And have I mentioned cancer?
Cancer, cancer, cancer.
Come home ASAP for a CT scan.
I don't know what I'm seeing.
Don't walk. Don't run. Get on crutches post haste.
And don't forget, cancer!"

Suddenly, I felt a shift deep within me.

A palpable silence in the car.

I announced "They saw a tumor."

My seat mate gripped my wrist. Murmurs of "I'm sorry" were shared.

We arrived at our lunch spot; I declined to eat and spent the rest of the afternoon wandering about Charleston South Carolina.

To be fair, prior to this chat, I really felt like my life was getting back on track. Not to be weird and elusive, but there's been significant life altering events in my life since November. What I have encountered, endured, has often left me at a loss.

But I persisted.

Only to find myself thousands of miles from home wondering if I have cancer.

Dark and dreary thoughts, I planned out my memorial service, who I'd write letters of appreciation to, how I'd say goodbye if I had time before my imminent death, and I planned on no chemo/radiation. Just a swift entrance into hospice and so long world, it has been a fun yet challenging ride.

(Too dark? I'm sorry)

Crutches bought, I learned how to navigate them all while wondering if I had actually heard my doctor say I needed these. I long wondered how one can zone out when receiving important medical news, but all I could remember were snippets of a conversation regarding cancer and crutches.

Random stranger taking a good photo for the win!

I went to the beach on the scheduled day of my run. To me, there is no greater place than the ocean to ponder, reflect, pray.

Granted, hobbling about with crutches while sinking into the sand was a challenge, but the ocean is where I needed to be.

I decided I'd let this diagnosis be what it was going to be. Cancer, okay. I had a plan. Not cancer, then I was going to remember to live my life and live it well.

Working in the ICU has altered the way I perceive life; I reflected a lot on the patients I have cared for who were fine yesterday, dying today. I wondered if I'd be that patient. If friends and family would say "But she was so happy, so healthy."

I prepared myself for the worst and decided that though my heart was a bit gloomy and confused, I'd find humor in the pain, purpose in the unknown, joy despite the fear.

The scheduling office called me Monday morning stating the CT was ordered as stat, which made me realize the doctor wasn't messing around; he really thought he saw something awful on my MRI.

That afternoon, at a t-shirt shop in Florida, a man stopped me. He asked why I was on crutches, and I briefly explained my scenario.

He said "I know a great physician"

I went to tell him that I wasn't from around the area, but he continued on and asked if he and his young son could pray for and over me. The prayer was simple, beautiful. He cast out cancer in the name of Jesus and then told me that this story would become part of my testimony. He told me I'd be miraculously healed, that when doctors took a look again at my imaging, the mass would no longer be there and there'd be no justifiable explanation.

Healing didn't come immediately; I still had pain, but I was, and am so grateful for a stranger named Patrick who had the bravery and leading to pray with me.

Through the gift of a friend, I took an early flight home for next to nothing.

It was really pretty awesome trying to navigate an international airport with a 2,000 pound suitcase and crutches.

No one offered to help, and I'll admit that I felt pretty low as my hip was screaming and I was trying to remain upright and smiling, because smiling is what I do, and letting down my guard while collapsing on the floor in a heap of tears probably isn't advisable.

Also, I don't like to ask for help. I can do it alllllllll. (Lesson learned: I cannot). 

After finally off loading my luggage, I hobbled on my crutches to security. An airport employee stopped me.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

I paused. "No, I am not okay." I replied, while trying to look upbeat and positive because I have a serious people pleasing problem.

He pointed towards the handicap line for screening and told me I need to go there.

And so I went.

I must admit, through all of this process, I have felt like a fraud. Many strangers have stopped me along the way, asking what I've done to my ankle/knee/leg/hip, and it feels mighty awkward to say "I woke up like this." I considered the possibility several times that I misunderstood the need for crutches.

Sometimes when a stranger would ask what happened, I wanted to say "I don't know, maybe I have cancer", but again, I'd always make a big joke out of it because humor is my coping mechanism and I don't know how to adequately deal with my own trauma or heartache. I always feel like I'm over-playing it.

I hobble the seven miles to my gate after an adventure in security where several passengers had pooped in their briefs and the place reeked to high heaven.

I boarded the plane at long last. Those that know me know I've experienced a significant fear of flying along the course of my life.

This time though, there really wasn't much fear. I mean, how scared can you get of the thought of your plane exploding compared to the concern that you might be dying of cancer? (I don't know if you knew this, but I'm a worst case scenario kind of girl).

The flight was long, I fell asleep (this is a miracle).

Home.

I went to my primary care the morning before my CT scan to get blood work done.

He pulled up a chair to sit directly across from me.

"We're treating this as cancer until proven otherwise."

He pulls up the MRI done one week ago. There, in my hip, is the mass, the tumor, whatever you want to call it.

I shed a tear, or 2,000. He motions towards a box of tissues. Tells me I appear anxious, and would I like a prescription for valium? He tells me we need to discuss oncologists.

I go home and cry.

Then I went to the hospital to get my CT. I try to be brave, happy.

Daily Struggle

The CT techs know me from work and tell me they know its been a rough few months for me. I try not to look pathetic as I nearly fall over while trying to put on my jacket and balancing precariously on one foot.

CT done, the results are read quickly by the radiologist.

Negative.

Negative = no mass

Negative = no cancer

Somehow, in some way, there is swelling to my bone marrow. There is a contusion (fancy word for bruise) to my hip bone.

But there is not cancer.

My orthopedist calls. He says he has no idea what could have caused this injury, that its very uncommon, and wasn't sure where the mass that had been visualized went.

But he does recommend crutches for 4-8 weeks, no toe touching allowed.

He describes me as an anomaly.

I seek a second opinion, as I am ever the skeptic. He concurs with the first diagnosis of "who could know" and describes me as an enigma. Recommends crutches till kingdom come, and maybe spontaneously my bone will heal over time. Or maybe I need a painful calcium injection into my hip to facilitate bone healing.

Until then, I am on forced leave. From work, from my every day life, from everything.

I did have a follow-up with ortho doctor #1 yesterday. He did ask me if I have been hiding from him an eating disorder, perhaps bulimia?

So that was pretty cool. And for the record, no, I don't have any eating disorders. I like eating.

When my friend Rachel was on hospice care and reaching the end of her days on earth, she made a comment to me that has stuck with me throughout the years.

She stated that the people she thought would be there for her weren't, and the people she didn't imagine being there for and with her, were.

My case is nothing comparable to Rachel's. But I have seen a side of humanity that I have never before experienced. I have benefited from acts of love and kindness, some from people I scarcely know. And the ones I thought I could lean in to, well, maybe they are busy. There is grace. I understand.

I've also not been advertising this nationally, so perhaps there are people who would gladly walk with me in this if I'd just stop being weird and admit that I need help.

This time is hard. It has been challenging. Sometimes there are pity parties (like when I'm trying to awkwardly navigate holding an item and my crutches in a store and people stare but no one offers to help). Or trying to open a door that isn't handicap accessible. Or cooking. Or showering. Or existing.

But there is a lesson here. Sometimes forced rest is necessary. Life is too short for unspoken conversations. Have them. Be honest. Get your feels out. Don't unnecessarily torture yourself. Live while you are alive. Ask for help.

Check in on your quiet friends. Don't assume they are okay.

Be brave and reach out.